


I Lie Inside Myself for Hours

by Python07



Series: Bring Me to Life [4]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Flashbacks, Fluff and Crack, M/M, Mild Smut, Vampires, spoilers for ep 1.4 The Good Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-19 13:03:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10640400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Python07/pseuds/Python07
Summary: The Vampire council wants to meet Richelieu, Treville is against the idea, and Aramis has his own issues to deal with.





	1. “Now, Ardashir, what does the vampire council want?”

The two envoys bowed before Louis. One of them was a step ahead of his companion. He was tall and gaunt. His skin was weathered and his long black hair was gray at the temples. His dark eyes were ancient but lively. “We bring you greetings and thank you, Majesty, for allowing us this private audience,” he said with perfectly correct politeness. He had the barest trace of an accent that no one could place. 

Louis inclined his head. He deigned to smile. It was friendly enough, if just a touch suspicious. “I welcome you to my court, Ardashir. It’s been a long time.”

Ardashir’s answering smile was tightlipped but did reach his eyes. “Ah, yes I remember,” he replied, flat and yet respectful. “You were but a boy. I was sent to negotiate with your mother, the regent at the time.”

Louis smirked. “I was terrified of you, so stern.” He looked to Ardashir’s companion. “And who is your friend?”

The other envoy appeared much younger. His smooth skin and head of full brown hair would lead the less observant to believe that he was no older than seventeen. However, his brown eyes were also ancient with a mischievous glint. He bowed with a flourish. His accent was flatter, almost English, but not quite. “I am called Kegan, Your Majesty.”

“You are welcome here, Kegan.”

“I thank you.”

Ardashir jumped back in quickly. “We have brought gifts.”

Louis’ face lit up like a child’s on Christmas morning. He clapped. “I love presents. What do you have for me?”

“We--” Ardashir began only for Kegan to interrupt him. 

Kegan waved his arm like a magician and stepped to the side to reveal a portable table with several ornately carved cedar chests stacked on top. “Would you care to take a look, Majesty?” he asked smoothly.

Louis tapped his fingers on the chair arms for a moment before he jumped to his feet. “Oh, yes.” He hurried to the table. He didn’t notice the glares Ardashir and Kegan threw at each other behind his back.

Louis opened the slender box on top of the pile to see two rows of sealed jars sitting in green velvet. His brow furrowed. “What are these?”

Kegan grinned. “We have heard that you are quite the gourmet with a discerning palate. These are spices from the Orient and Africa, Majesty. The meals the royal chef will make with these will be exquisite.”

Louis preened at the praise. “I will look forward to tasting them.” He leaned in close to Kegan. “Tell me. Is something here meant for a desert? I am so tired of the same old thing.”

Kegan lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Oh, yes. I know of several recipes. I’d be happy to share them.”

Louis clapped Kegan on the shoulder. “Good man.”

Ardashir cleared his throat. He tried to keep his voice light but there was an edge underneath. “The spices are wonderful, Majesty, but we have much more for you.”

Louis closed the spice box and set it to the side. The next box was smaller. He opened it to find a finely jeweled and enameled Mughal dagger. The hilt was in the shape of an angel’s wing and the steel was engraved with the fleur de lis. The sheath was also heavily encrusted with rubies and emeralds surrounding the vividly enameled Grand Royal Coat of Arms of France and Navarre.

Louis’ eyes got wide. He held the dagger up to the light. He let out a soft exhale of reverence. “Exquisite, gentlemen.”

“The Mughals are talented craftsmen, Majesty,” Ardashir agreed solemnly. 

Louis carefully ran a finger down the flat of the blade. “They certainly have a deft touch.” 

Ardashir was at Louis’ shoulder. “It will fit in the nicely with the splendor of your palace.”

Louis didn’t look at Ardashir. He put the dagger back on its bed of velvet. “Lovely. I will treasure it.” He gazed at it for a long moment before he closed the box. He ran a hand over the lid and then moved it to the side.

The next box contained an enameled and gem-set torque. Kegan spoke first, although he didn’t sound hurried. He was suave, sure, and charming. “We have heard of the Queen’s love of emeralds.”

Louis took it out and watched it glint in the light. “She will adore this.” He glanced at Kegan. “It’s a torque, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but in India, it is called a hasli.” 

Louis hummed and peeked back into the box. “A gold and sapphire ring and matching earrings.” He put the torque back. He took out a large piece with a clasp on the back. It was covered in gold, rubies, emeralds, and diamonds. “Not a broach.”

Kegan smiled. “A hair ornament or jadai nagam.”

“Jadai nagam,” Louis repeated slowly. He butchered it but no one corrected him. He put it back. “All superb, gentleman. This is really too much,” he drawled but his face was glowing.

“The big box, Sire,” Ardashir urged. “The best for last.”

Louis rubbed his hands together eagerly. He opened the biggest chest to find a four foot long composite bow made of polished buffalo horn in jet black. The grip was velvet. Eagle heads adorned the ends while the wooden back was decorated with birds and flowers. There was also a quiver of arrows, all highly ornate.

If Louis let out a squeak of delight, no one was going to mention it. He ran his hands over the bow. “I can hardly wait to hunt with this.” He was vibrating with excitement. “You must thank your masters for me.”

Ardashir bowed again. “I will do so.”

“That’s not quite all, Majesty,” Kegan put in smoothly.

It took Louis a few extra seconds to tear his eyes from the bow. He barely glanced at Kegan. “Oh? I don’t see any more boxes.”

“That’s because all the materials I need are being delivered as we speak,” Kegan answered dryly but didn’t elaborate.

Louis caressed the bow one last time and closed the lid. He turned fully to Kegan. “Materials? What do you mean?”

“I’ve spent a lot of time in the Orient, great King.”

“And?” Louis prompted impatiently.

Kegan kept his tone humble and his eyes down. “The Chinese are masters of fireworks. On the next suitable night, I propose to put on a show to please you.”

Louis laughed and grabbed Kegan’s shoulders. “Wonderful,” he gushed. “I love fireworks.”

Kegan inclined his head. “It will be a show to remember. You have my word.”

Louis laughed again and gave each of them a squeeze to the shoulder. “Thank you.” He went back to his throne. He settled in, still giggling like mad. The other two waited until he spoke again. “Again, thank you for the presents. I love all of them.” He was still affable but there was a glint in his eyes. “Now, Ardashir, what does the vampire council want?”


	2. "I'm shocked, shocked I tell you."

Richelieu sat behind his desk. He was still, while Treville paced in agitation. “Jean,” he tried.

“I can’t believe them,” Treville growled to himself. His steps were heavy and he had a white knuckle grip on the hilt of his sword.

Richelieu arched an eyebrow. “Really?” he asked in dry amusement.

Treville didn’t stop. He glanced at Richelieu. “What?” he asked irritably.

Richelieu’s tone became even drier. “The vampire council sent envoys with gifts for the King because they want something.” He rolled his eyes. “Who would’ve thought?”

Treville just grunted and turned on his heel to pace the other way.

“I’m shocked, shocked I tell you,” Richelieu drawled.

Treville’s mouth twitched but he didn’t smile. He kept pacing. He muttered curses in a mixture of languages under his breath.

“How may royal courts have you attended in your life?” Richelieu asked, still light, as if the matters they were discussing were of on consequence. “The system of gifts and favors is as old as time. It would’ve been a scandal had they not brought gifts. Can you imagine the tantrum his Majesty would throw?”

Treville snorted a laugh. He waved an arm. “I know,” he grudgingly conceded. “I see your point.” He tossed his head as if trying to bite his own ear. “It doesn’t mean I have to like it. I hate these games. I always have.”

Richelieu gave a small smile. “I know,” he said with quiet fondness.

Treville turned again and his blue cloak snapped to match his anger. “Two-faced bastards. I stay out of their way and they stay out of mine.”

Richelieu nodded in thought. “I’m sure your opinion is known to them. It’s probably one of the reasons they requested a private audience.” He sat up straighter in his chair. “Tell me about this Ardashir.”

Treville continued his angry pacing. He was almost stomping. “He’s been around since the Persian Empire. He was born of royal blood but, like other royal houses, they were too busy exterminating each other to see sense. His cousin not only had him killed, but cursed, because he was a rival with a better claim to the throne.”

“When did you first meet him?”

“When I was a new blood and before he became a member of the council. Once upon a time, we might have been friends but it’s hard for me to remember a time when I haven’t wanted to put a stake through his heart myself.” 

Richelieu tilted his head to the side. “You told me that most of the common folklore is a myth. Does that really work?”

“No creature can survive a stake to the heart, Armand,” Treville answered flatly.

One end of Richelieu’s mouth quirked up. “Point taken.”

“He’s been on the council for centuries,” Treville continued in disdain. “He’s cold, cunning, and brilliant, and everything that comes out of his mouth is a lie. I’d say he’s their attack dog but that doesn’t do him justice”

Richelieu smirked. “Sounds like a man after my own heart.” 

“Don’t say that,” Treville snapped. He stopped to stare at Richelieu. His voice was low and vehement. “Don’t ever compare yourself to him. You build. He destroys. He’s gotten so old, so out of touch. He’s lost too much of his humanity. He’d watch the world drown in blood if he could. He represents the worst of us.”

Richelieu didn’t know what to do with the intensity of Treville’s gaze. He dropped his eyes. “How does he retain his influence?”

Treville started again with his restless pacing. “He’s not the only hardliner in our community. He’s just the one with the most power and influence.”

“He must play the game well,” Richelieu said more to himself than Treville. “I have to admit that the gifts were well chosen. They appeal to everything that makes Louis…Louis.” 

“That may be,” Treville allowed. 

“You saw the King,” Richelieu sighed in exasperated amusement. “He was positively gushing about the upcoming fireworks and the bow. That’s all he needs, another excuse to go hunting.”

“I don’t care the inducement.” Treville stopped and faced Richelieu, his hands on his hips. “As if the King would allow them to take you back to the council. To present you,” he sneered. “It’s laughable.”

“Not so laughable that they would try,” Richelieu began carefully. “I am given to understand that actions such as yours are frowned upon.”

Treville’s snarl was otherworldly. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet, ready for a fight. “Do I look like I give a damn? You were almost taken from me. You were fucking covered in blood. You smelled of death and I could barely feel you. You were slipping away. I couldn’t…I can’t…” his fervent words stumbled to a halt.

Richelieu shivered despite himself. He didn’t look away from Treville’s raw gaze. His own voice was low and ragged. “Jean.”

Treville didn’t think. He didn’t just walk around the desk like a man. In a flash he was over the desk, standing over Richelieu. His eyes were glowing but his face was still normal. “I saved you,” he interrupted, low and dangerous. He clenched his hands into fists at his sides. “I’ll always save you. They would do well to remember that.” 

Richelieu slowly rose to his feet. He didn’t break eye contact. One hand touched Treville’s arm. The other cupped the side of Treville’s neck. His thumb moved back and forth across Treville’s skin. “I’m here, Jean,” he soothed. “You saved me.”

Treville cupped Richelieu’s face and kissed him. He poured everything into that kiss, all of the anger and love, all of the fear and elation, all of the anxiety and excitement. Richelieu opened up to him and returned it all.

Richelieu pressed closer. He didn’t have to pull away from the kiss. //I’m not going anywhere, Jean.//

Treville broke off the kiss only to rest his forehead against Richelieu’s. He buried his hands in Richelieu’s hair. //I know, but you have to understand. You’re a new blood forged without their consent. That’s why they want you brought before them. If they find you wanting, they will do as they wish with you. I have known them to kill for no other reason than to send a message to their sire of exactly who is in charge. I won’t let them hurt you.//

//Easy, Jean.// Richelieu gave Treville a short, sweet kiss. //My hero.//

Treville rolled his eyes but didn’t pull away. He tugged on Richelieu’s curls and felt the answering spark of lust in Richelieu. //This is serious, Armand.//

//I am aware of that.// Richelieu nipped at Treville’s lip, hard, and felt the tension in Treville slowly beginning to morph into another kind. //Make no mistake. I wish to meet them, but it will be at a time of my choosing.//

Treville nipped back. //You want to meet them? I told you. They’re all old women and fools.//

//I’ve known old women who were extremely sharp and dangerous.// Richelieu trailed light kisses and nips along Treville’s jaw. He licked the sensitive spot on Treville’s neck. He let Treville feel only the barest tip of his fangs. //Most of them may be a herd of sheep but it pays to know the wolves among them.//

Treville shuddered in pleasure and growled out loud. He grabbed Richelieu’s hands to kiss his fingers. //You’re looking forward to this, aren’t you? Confronting that pit of vipers.// 

Richelieu couldn’t take his gaze off Treville. His eyes flashed. //I love a challenge.//

Treville pushed Richelieu to sit on the desk. He leaned in close and planted a hand on the desk on either side of Richelieu. He nuzzled the side of Richelieu’s neck. //You just like opportunities to show how brilliant you are.//

Richelieu wrapped his arms around Treville’s neck and tilted his head to the side. //Do you want me to lie and deny it?//

Treville nosed inside Richelieu’s collar. He inhaled deeply Richelieu’s familiar scent. //No. It will serve them right when I let you loose on them.//

Richelieu licked the spot again. “Jean.” His voice broke and it was hungry and needy. 

Treville growled in return. He reached down to tease Richelieu through his breeches. He kissed Richelieu’s neck and scraped his fangs over Richelieu’s skin. //Have you fed today?//

Richelieu pushed into Treville’s mouth and grip. He let out a low moan and wrapped his legs around Treville’s waist. //Yes. Take me to bed, Jean.//

Treville wanted nothing more. He wanted to strip Richelieu to admire his pale skin. He wanted to touch and taste him everywhere. He wanted to bite and mark. He wanted to watch and feel Richelieu come apart.

“Pardon me,” a third voice said formally, but with a hint of mischief. “Can we speak first? After all, I’ve come such a long way.”

Richelieu tensed. “I locked the door.”

Treville spit out a curse in old Common Brittonic as he straightened up. He helped Richelieu to stand. He kept a soothing, proprietary hand on Richelieu’s shoulder. He glared at the third party. “Locks are no problem for us. However, with our hearing, I thought you would know not to barge in.”

“I didn’t want to wait until tomorrow to see you. I tried to catch you before you got too carried away.” There was an exaggerated pout in return. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?”

Richelieu looked between them. “Who is this, Jean?”

Treville sighed heavily. He waved at the intruder. “Meet the second envoy, my older brother Kegan.”


	3. "The man that you would follow to hell and back doesn't exist."

Marsac’s voice shook but it was still full of disdain and fury. The pistols barely wavered in his hands. “Twenty of our friends murdered.*”

“I was misled!” Treville shot back, almost desperately. He looked at Marsac for a moment longer and then at Aramis. His voice and his eyes were raw. “The Cardinal allowed the Duke to believe your mission was an assassination attempt.*” He looked away and shook his head.

Aramis’ emotions were roiling inside, but he knew Treville. He knew him and he didn’t lie. He saw Marsac twitch. “Put the guns down.*”

Marsac didn’t take his focus from Treville. “You heard him! You heard what he said!” His voice grew louder in pitch. “He’s guilty!*”

“And you heard his reasons, so…*” Aramis began shakily.

Marsac looked at Aramis, betrayed, but he didn’t lower his weapons.

“Put them down*” Aramis half begged, half demanded. 

Marsac took a deep breath and turned his attention back to Treville. He didn’t lower his weapons. He set his jaw instead.

“Marsac,*” Aramis tried again.

There was something dead in Marsac’s voice when he answered, “This has to end here, Aramis.” He barely flicked his eyes over to Aramis one last time. “You know that.*” Suddenly, he fired his first shot and it hit a table in front of Aramis.

Aramis didn’t think, just reacted. He stepped to the side to get clear of the smoke. He saw Marsac point his other pistol at Treville, but he’d always been faster.

Marsac’s eyes widened in shock. He pulled his sash to the side to see the spreading red stain on his chest. He dropped his pistol.

Aramis ran over just in time to catch Marsac by the shoulders before Marsac could fall to his knees. “I’m sorry, old friend.*”

Marsac dropped to his knees, Aramis still with him. He didn’t have the strength to reach out and touch Aramis. His eyes couldn’t focus. “Better to die a musketeer, than live like a dog.*”

Aramis cradled Marsac’s limp body against his chest. He buried his face in Marsac’s hair. He inhaled deeply and squeezed his eyes shut. His heart pounded in his ears. He wanted to scream. He didn’t.

“You don’t think I still believe that, do you?” 

The atmosphere froze around them, the temperature dropped by at least ten degrees, and Marsac’s accusing, sarcastic voice echoed in on Aramis from every direction and sounded in Aramis’ head. Aramis swallowed and dared to look down at the head resting on his shoulder. He saw Marsac’s otherworldly blue skin, milky eyes, and terrifying smile.

Aramis swallowed the scream trying to claw its way out of his chest. He wanted to shove himself away from Marsac but he couldn’t move. He trembled.

Marsac wrapped his arms around Aramis and dug claw like hands into Aramis’ back. He held on with a surprising strength. He pressed cold lips along the underside of Aramis’ jaw. “The musketeers are a lie, my dear Aramis. Captain Treville isn’t the man we both thought he was.”

Aramis shuddered in revulsion but still tilted his head back to expose his throat. “Marsac,” he whimpered.

Marsac’s fingers ghosted through Aramis’ heavy leather jacket and shirt to press against his skin. “Treville sacrificed his own men. So what if he mourned for them.” 

Aramis shivered at the touch and the cold breath against his skin. “It was for the Duchess,” he whispered weakly. “To protect the King’s sister and avert a war with Savoy.” 

“We don’t know that for sure. Our friends are still dead,” Marsac continued relentlessly. “Good soldiers sacrificed for nothing. They didn’t die in battle, with honor. They didn’t face the enemy head on. They were slaughtered like sheep.” He kissed Aramis’ neck. His cold tongue lingered over Aramis’ pulse. “I am still dead. I died with my brothers. My body just took a few years to catch up. You will see. You are the same.”

The hairs on Aramis’ arms and the back of his neck stood on end. His skin prickled where Marsac touched him. The coldness spread from Marsac’s fingers to the rest of him. His mouth was dry and his voice little more than a whisper. “No.”

“You know it’s true,” Marsac purred. “One day, you will die for your duty and so will your friends. Treville may mourn for you, but he won’t save you. He’ll save a man like the Cardinal, but he won’t save you.” He cupped the back of Aramis’ neck in his cold, cold fingers. “You saw the beast that dwells within Treville. Your friends were right. That beast would’ve torn you apart to save its mate. The man that you would follow to hell and back doesn’t exist.”

One of Marsac’s hands found Aramis’ torso and it felt like there was a block of ice in his chest. Water froze in the corners of Aramis’ eyes. “Yes, he does. He has to.”

Marsac snorted a derisive laugh. “Then why did he betray his own men? Why did he turn the Cardinal into an immortal beast like himself? Surely, he knew that you would all be safer with Richelieu gone.”

“It isn’t that simple.”

“Isn’t it?” Marsac challenged. “You always thought Treville could control the creature inside of him. Now you know that he can’t.”

“But…” Aramis’ voice trailed off.

Marsac pressed his forehead to Aramis’. He kissed Aramis with his blue tinted lips. “The King’s two most trusted advisors are bloodthirsty monsters now. You know what you have to do.”

A harsh light suddenly invaded Aramis’ vision. The cold receded and he shivered again. He felt alone. 

Aramis blinked and his eyes watered. He hit the floor, hard. His hands were tied behind his back. He looked up at the blonde smirking down at him. 

“Good, you’re awake.”

“What?” Aramis asked, disoriented.

“I apologize for the way my men greeted you.” 

Aramis glared. “I came alone like the Duke asked.”

“And he wants to meet with you,” The blonde answered smoothly. He threw the black hood to one of his men. He smiled, all teeth. “However, the fact remains that you’re one of Captain Treville’s favorites. We had to make sure that you weren’t followed.”

“I wasn’t. I made sure of it.”

The blonde studied Aramis for a long moment. “Your comrades have no idea where you are?”

Aramis didn’t break eye contact. “They think I have a new woman.”

The blonde chuckled, but it was hard. There was nothing merry about it. “If you’re lying, your new woman is going to have a jealous husband. I doubt anyone would be surprised that you finally cuckolded the wrong man.”

“Understood,” Aramis stated. “I’m not lying.”

The blonde nodded. “Very well. Untie him and leave us.”

One of the men untied Aramis’ hands, helped him to his feet, and disappeared. Aramis took a moment to look around. They were in a small room. It was sparsely decorate with a cot, a chair, and just enough candles for them to see each other. “When do I get to see the Duke?”

“In the morning,” the blonde answered blandly.

“What?” Aramis demanded.

“He has guests this evening. He will see you in the morning.” 

“I can’t be gone from the garrison that long,” Aramis protested.

The blonde waved a hand dismissively. “You lost track of time with your new lady friend.” He turned to the door. He paused and threw a smile over his shoulder. Again, it was all teeth. “Make yourself comfortable. One of my boys will bring you something to eat.”

“Are you locking me in?”

“Oh, yes.”

Aramis flopped down on the cot. He ran a hand through his hair. The sudden quiet was unnerving, but he wasn’t feeling guilty. He shook his head. He wasn’t.

**Author's Note:**

> Dialogue borrowed from The Good Soldier marked w/*
> 
> Title taken from Imaginary by Evanescence


End file.
